


Spectres of Hope

by Alixtii



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Character of Color, Community: 3_ships, Episode: s02e13 Happy Anniversary, Episode: s05e19 Time Bomb, Literary Reference, Los Angeles, Multi, POV Male Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Reminiscence, Safer Sex, Threesome, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-17
Updated: 2009-01-17
Packaged: 2017-10-02 23:31:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alixtii/pseuds/Alixtii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courtesy of Illyria, Wesley relives a moment with Gunn and Cordelia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spectres of Hope

  
"Angel Investigations," said Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly of the Watcher's Council of Britain. "No, Angel's just a name, I'm manager here. Wyndam-Pryce. Wesley Wyndam-Pryce. Yes, we're equipped to deal with, certainly, no, sorry, please—"

He cursed and put down the phone.

"Why have you brought me here?" asked Wesley Wyndam-Pryce, formerly of Wolfram &amp; Hart. He looked at the almost-forgotten sight of the small office. Gunn and Cordelia sat in the corner, playing cards.

They were playing hearts, and Cordy had just taken the queen of spades.

"My control over the temporal elements have been disrupted by the Mutari generators," Illyria reminded him. "I am not at fault for this situation."

Wesley nodded, not looking at her. "'These are the shadows of the things that have been,'" he quoted, watching intently the trio as they passed the time in the office. "'That they are what they are, do not blame me.'"

"I do not understand," Illyria told him.

"No matter," he said, still paying no more attention to her than absolutely necessary. "You're sure they cannot see us?"

"I doubt they would be playing the foolish games of your species if they could," pointed out Illyria in her direct way. Wesley shrugged slightly in acquiescence.

Gunn and Cordy had finished their game and now were packing away the office, the end of the day having come at last.

"The female," said Illyria, watching the scene at Wesley's side. "She is the one who let loose—" Illyria finished with a series of noises, Jasmine's true name. It was unpronounceable to Wesley, but Illyria spoke it without fear.

"Yes," answered Wesley. "This was before that."

Wesley watched as his younger self—just a couple years younger in time, yet so much less wise, so much more innocent—was about to walk out the door, when Cordelia caught him by the arm.

"Can't we see something else?" Wesley asked, unable to bear watching what he knew would come next, but equally unable to look away. But he knew that was not in Illyria's power, nor his own.

He stood and watched as Cordelia held him back, as Cordelia brought her mouth to his and kissed him. It was the second time they had kissed, Wesley remembered, but this kiss was to that first in the Sunnydal High library as night was to day. Wesley half-expected the scene in front of him to smear to blue and be replaced with that earlier kiss, but it remained firm in front of him as Gunn walked over to them to investigate. Both Cordelia and Wesley were confident in this kiss, sure of what they were doing as their mouths slowly explored each other. Then, when Gunn was a mere foot from the two of them, Cordy broke the kiss and brought her mouth to his instead. That kiss lasted a few more seconds before she broke it too and kissed Wesley again.

They alternated the kisses between Cordy and Wesley and Cordy and Gunn as the two men backed Cordy back into the room and helped her lay back onto the small office's desk, pulling off her clothing as they did.

"Yours is a patrilinear culture," pointed out Illyria. "Are neither of you afraid you will confuse the other's offspring with your own?"

"The purpose of that night wasn't breeding," Wesley answered, bothered by the diversion, and sure enough, the other him was even then pulling out a pair of condoms from the desk drawer. Not that there would in all likelihood have been any difficulty at all in distinguishing a child of Gunn's from one of his own, had it come to that.

"What was the purpose, then?" asked Illyria.

"Comfort," answered Wesley, watching the three of them and remembering that night. "Connection. An expression of love, a reminder that we were not alone in the world."

Illyria considered it. "You had not yet mated with the Fred creature when I took over this shell. Does this mean that you did not know if she loved you?"

"Of course not," Wesley answered. At least, any doubts that he might have had would not have been erased merely by making love.

"She did," Illyria answered. Like him, she did not take her gaze away from the three figures as she spoke. "The emotion she felt towards you was the one she would have called 'love.'"

"Thank you," Welsey answered, although the knowledge, far from being comforting, made him feel more hollow than anything else.

But the figures carried on, oblivious to being watched. Wesley watched with interest, surprised by just how many details of that night he had forgotten. As painful a time as it had been, dismissed from Angel's employment with Darla on the loose and the future uncertain, it had been a simpler time. Before Illyria, before Jasmine, before Connor and the prophecy, before Pylea even. Just he and Cordelia and Gunn against the world, secure in their knowledge that they would have each other, then and forever.

All three were naked now, bared and open to each other as their bodies entwined. It was a moment of intimacy such as Wesley had had at no other point in his life. He had been unclothed in front of Lilah, nude even, but never naked, not like this.

Suddenly, Wesley was seized by the irrational wish to trade places with the other him. Even giving up the memory of Fred would be worth it, it seemed to him at that moment, if he could somehow make this moment last forever. For this moment, bad as it was, was one of the few times in Wesley's life when he had genuinely felt hope.

Hope was a precious gift, the old Greek myth said, so precious it had to be kept in a special box to be shielded from all the miseries Pandora had let loose. And so of course, as soon as Wesley had made peace with the scene in front of him, it began to smear blue and he and Illyria were transported elsewhen. He was not surprised by this, of course; he had abandoned hope long ago.


End file.
